The Voeghtly.

The old icon statuary in the Voeghtly
is so worn away, to the point that features--and
for that matter, the corners of the letters
Commemorating them

Are nearly all lost.  Pocks and lichens
In between the important stuff
Have taken over, and

If you get close enough you can follow
A tableau--the past, the near future,
A grist of nudity, sleep, and forgiving mist.

Dust is where dust is
Albeit forceful in lording light and
Thin staffed for the disaster of dying.

One sculpted youngster stands atop an ash-color pedestal,
Lit by what fire he must have seen--

The sun or the neighborhood, after dark,
Til an adherent finally takes him up in his curatorial
Arms,

Saves him.

You will be our King Tut, he says to the boy. And I will make sure you never
Have to remember any of this why you yourself and others are remembered.